


This heart still beats for you, why can't you see it?

by rozsaks



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Butch/Femme, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Mutual Pining, Several Tender Feelings, bit of a character study for Theo, rip to donna tartt but I'm different so they're lesbians now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-21 04:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20687513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozsaks/pseuds/rozsaks
Summary: In last night's dream, Borislava had kissed the inside of Theodora's wrists and they waltzed across a tiled kitchen floor while a radio played from somewhere, the lilting voices of Lou Reed and Nico echoing softly around them.Now Theodora lay back against the mattress, awake and thinking about how those are the kinds of moments that should make them feel good to be alive.





	This heart still beats for you, why can't you see it?

In last night's dream, Borislava had kissed the inside of Theodora's wrists and they waltzed across a tiled kitchen floor while a radio played from somewhere, the lilting voices of Lou Reed and Nico echoing softly around them. 

Now Theodora lay back against the mattress, awake and thinking about how those are the kinds of moments that should make them feel good to be alive. Borislava, awake now as well but pretending otherwise, shifted until pressed her face into Theo's neck. She curled around her at some point in the night. She dropped a subtle kiss under Theo’s jaw. They were still learning to be in love without having it be something that hurt.

Theodora peeled Borislava’s arm off her chest and sat up. Borislava rolled onto her back, fell into the pillows and sighed.

“You were squishing me.” Theo mumbled, sleepy still, tying her hair back with the elastic tie that had left an indent on her wrist all night. Loose strands fell in her face anyways, an eternal annoyance. She squinted at the blades of white morning sunlight coming in from behind the curtains. Borislava elbowed her in the thigh.

“Have less beautiful and pillowy tits, then. Is your problem, not mine.” Borislava told her.

They had spent hundreds of mornings waking up in the same bed, starting when they were teenagers in Vegas: miserable, stoned as hell, and lying to Theo’s father when he could be bothered to ask them what they were up to. Now, again, they were back to waking up together each day after an eight year long interlude. 

Not once had Theo ever seen Borislava awake and eager to greet the day; she whined sadly when Theo lifted the covers and stood up.

“Too cold.” Borislava whined as Theo left to the bathroom. She was pulling the loose silky pyjama shirt off and over her head while she walked when Borislava’s raised voice shouted out, “Come back to bed, Potter!” 

“I’ve got a client meeting at noon. Turn of the century armoire.” Theo called back in the middle of washing her face, trying not to splash water all over the countertop. The bathroom was ensuite, Borislava could easily just come talk to her if she bothered to take the four steps out of bed to brush her teeth. 

“You coming into the shop today?” Theo asked. 

Theodora’s life had to be mentally categorized as either before the painting or now, after. Since Amsterdam, Borislava had kept mostly to lingering in New York, trying her best to stay in Theodora’s life again.

Borislava had rented an apartment a few blocks away from the store and that’s where Theo had been spending most nights lately, despite all of her things still in her room-- Welty’s old room-- above the store. Theo was doing her very best not to live up to stereotypes about lesbians, but it was really just easier to keep a few clothes and a toothbrush at Borislava’s place. Sometimes, Borislava would come into Hobart & Blackwell’s with Theodora in the mornings, just to sit on the ground behind the counter reading her long Russian novels all day, furiously underlining sentences, lazily cooing at Popchik as he trotted about nearby. She would balance the store’s finances, occasionally, as she was by far the most suited to accurate mathematics amongst the three of them. Would help Hobie lift and carry furniture around the workshop and up to the store now that he was older and her knees didn’t ache like his did. Handed off tools when he needed them and crept around the darker corners of the storefront to watch Theodora sell Hobie’s changelings with her charming temperament which was reserved for clients only. Helping out like this made Borislava feel properly butch, even if she blatantly refused a paycheck for her time in the store and sometimes was gone doing _this and that, not to worry,_ in a different state for the weekend. Theodora knew personally that old habits die hard, and telling a lifelong thief to stop wasn’t exactly a productive means to an end. 

“Hm, maybe in the afternoon. See you there, perhaps, later? Mr. Hobie tells me, _ Borislava, I’ll pay you under table next time you carry so much hardwood by yourself. Slip cash into pocket before you notice_. But am fine without it, I’ll go carry his finished chairs upstairs when he goes out for tea.” She was leaning up against the bathroom doorway, arms crossed over the ambiguously dark colored shirt she wore; far too large, soft, long-sleeved, and stopped mid-thigh. Theodora remembered sleeping in the same shirt herself a few nights ago. Borislava’s dark curls stuck out wildly in every direction. She looked right out of their Vegas days of drugs and shoplifting, matched perfectly to the smirk on her face, her eyes trailing up and down Theo’s half naked figure.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me get ready?” Theo asked, untwisting the wand of mascara as she spoke, not turning away from the mirror but still carefully watching Borislava’s reflection. 

“You haven’t said ‘get out’ yet, so yes.”

“You’re such a creep, you’re worse than a guy sometimes.” Theo complained lightly, expertly swiping the mascara across her lashes. 

“_Nyet_, not as bad! At least you enjoy this. I can tell.” Borislava tilted her head sideways, watching Theo’s hand hover over tubes of lipstick, eager to see her choice today. She stood behind Theo now, one arm hugged around her waist and the other curling up across her chest, forehead pressed against the back of Theo’s neck. “Most beautiful Theodora, always so carefully dressed up, just to sell antiques to old strangers.” A kiss against her nape. “But ah, never for me, no?” 

Theo capped her lipstick and glanced peripherally back at Borislava. 

“You want me to dress up for you?” 

Slavic shrug. Borislava evaded the question in a roundabout way, “Does not suit me. Makeups and tailored clothes and jewelry, but is much better on you. Easier to appreciate, that way too.” 

Theo smiled at the compliment, kissed Borislava quickly, and stepped out of her grasp. Borislava followed lazily behind her, falling back onto their bed to watch Theo sort through bras and blouses.

“When we were kids, you would steal Xandra’s lipsticks, all horrible colors, just to wear at school. Remember?”

Theo frowned; she hadn’t really know what to do with makeup back then. She’d stand in front of the makeup displays of drugstores and would feel overwhelmed at the idea of stealing something and having it not suit her. She didn’t know what to try from Xandra’s makeup collection without her noticing and yelling. Vikes and cigarettes and booze and indiscernible painkiller pills were one thing, but the sleek tubes of cosmetics and too-saturated colored eyeshadow palettes were another beast entirely. It took a long and embarrassing few years before she realized what colors suited her, how to take care of her skin, what helped her achieve that timeless beauty she sought after. It took her even longer to figure out how to look sexy in a way that men disregarded and women adored. In Vegas, after days of fretting about it silently, Theo was surprised when Borislava came home-- to Theo’s house-- with a pencil of black eyeliner, a wine colored liquid lip color and a black mascara in a pink and green plastic tube smuggled into the lining of her ugly grey jacket. _ Tired of watching you fret, Potter. Just try black, see how it goes. Cannot improve if you don’t start somewhere._

“I try not to, you should have never let me get my hands on black kohl.” Theo said, Borislava letting out an audible gasp, sitting up in bed again suddenly.

“But it was so sexy! Eyes all dark and smokey in the mornings, red and glassy at night. Pretty pretty pretty.” 

Theo bit back an ugly, scoffing laugh. Arms tucked through the straps of her bra, lace trimmed but smooth. Lovely, but with nothing that would show through her blouse. 

“Pretty emo, maybe.” 

Without asking, Borislava was behind her again, doing up each closure of the bra so Theo wouldn’t have to reach behind and do it herself. Her hand trailed affectionately down Theo’s side before it disappeared as Borislava went to go find her own clothes. Somewhere in the closet Theo could hear the shuffling sound of dark denim being pulled over bare legs and the clattering of boots being tugged on. 

“Well, was always prettiest to me, _moya ptichka_.”  


* * *

  
Despite all the lies and mistakes Theodora had sold and made in Hobart & Blackwell’s, the renaissance of the store’s success was still one of the things she was most proud of in her life. Before she took over the business side of things, as a too-thin and scrawny girl with rings below her eyes, her hair cropped too-short, it annoyed Theo endlessly how Hobie would only open the store for two hours at a time, or by appointment with friends. Even then Theo could see ways to improve the business, to bring in more customers and actually help the place turn a profit. Even now, when she returned after lunch meetings with clients and saw Hobie hadn’t sneakily turned the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ while she was out, it made her feel good in some deep place in her chest. This store, this trade, was just as much hers now as it was Welty’s and Hobie’s-- though she never dare change the signs painted on the front windows. She liked seeing it open to the public, thriving and alive. She liked seeing Borislava lingering behind the counter when she came back from meetings even more, though. 

Borislava’s eyes flickered up from the book in her hands at the sound of the bell above the door, “Ah! Welcome back, Potter.” 

“Hi, did I miss anything?” Theo asked, undoing the buttons down the front of her houndstooth coat. Borislava immediately was up and off the stool behind the register, helping Theo shrug the coat off. She hung it up on a hook on the wall near the stairs leading down into Hobie’s workshop for Theo, gentlemanly as ever. 

“Not especially. Popchyk cried when the sky turned grey and his spot in the window was no longer warm. A woman came in and looked before leaving. Silent and skittish, like a ghost with no commitment to buying! Helped Mr. Hobie sort veneers, two students came and bought some of the cheap-o Victorian photos from the box in the corner. The usual.” Borislava explained. She tugged lightly on the wrist of Theodora’s sleeve, a nonverbal cue they’ve had for years: _ Hold on for a minute, don’t rush off yet. _ “You are thirsty? Need a drink?”

“A drink, or a _drink_?” Theo teased. Borislava rolled her eyes.

“Tea, fool. Is only noon! Too early to have a real drink if we are still pretending to not be alcoholics.” 

Theo leaned over the counter, dropped a quick kiss on Borislava’s cheek, “Tea would be lovely. Thank you. I’ve got to talk to Hobie for a minute, but I’ll be back up soon.”

Borislava’s smile was small and the tops of her ears were pink. She nodded while Theo went downstairs. 

The minute with Hobie wasn’t extravagant, just an honest update how the meeting had gone. Theodora had been trying to make it a habit of telling Hobie exactly how these sort of things went after she had finished buying back all the changelings. She saw it as a way of rebuilding trust as a business partner. And though Hobie still didn’t have the ear for sitting through the actual business details, he still was glad to hear the updates. _They asked for that set of Chippendale chairs to be put on hold, they need one more week to compare how it’d look with their other furniture but they definitely want to buy, so it’ll be gone before the month’s over, I’d say. They still look nice, up in the store, for now at least._ He put the vanish and brush in his hands down, rubbed them down the front of his apron, and smiled at Theo proudly. Said thank you for the check in, smoothed down a stray hair on the back of Theo’s head, a kind and gentle touch from a father. It had taken years before Theo stopped flinching when he raised a hand near her, to stop living on the edge of anticipating violence after her time with Larry and Xandra. 

“Borislava is making tea upstairs, I think, do you want some?” Theo asked, one hand on the railing by the stairs, before Hobie settled back into his work. 

“Ah, no. She made me a mug of oolong an hour ago and we talked veneer finishes. I’m just fine, Theo.” He shooed her back up the stairs with a smile. “Let me finish this, I’ll come find you both later.”

Theodora dimmed the lights in the store a bit, closed the door, and went upstairs into the apartment. Borislava was leaned up against Hobie’s kitchen counter, still reading her book, the kettle on the stove near boiling. Two mugs were set out, teabags already inside, just waiting for the water to boil.

“Potter, listen to this: _ She had a sense of being past everything, through everything, out of everything as if there was an eddy-- there-- and one could be in it, or one could be out of it, and she was out of it._”

Theo had hopped up onto the counter and listened to Borislava’s lilting voice read aloud. “What’s that from?”

“Virginia Woolf, something off Hobie’s shelf in the living room. Sounds a bit like you, no?” Borislava smiled, perfectly white and straight-toothed. 

Theo thought quickly about the painting, about her drug-addled life before Amsterdam, about the decision and struggle of staying clean after Amsterdam, about the delight of Borislava being around and easy to find, about the way she had to organize her life into closed off literary chapters to feel like enough of a person to get through mundane day to day life. When Theo indulged in moments of self reflection, it made her feel similarly. In her imagination, she could see her whole life, every major explosion and minor whisper that had compounded into who she was today, and she hated it. She knew her past intricately and bone deep. The void uncertainty of the future made her sick. She had to be out of it’s focus, purposefully inspecting every already-lived second of her life under a microscope, or she wouldn’t be able to function. She was too easily weighed down with the panic of walking into another public space and never knowing if a terrorist attack was about to ruin her life again, if she’d die this time, if she’d survive this time. She couldn’t manage to live like that without knocking herself blackout numb and drunk with booze and drugs, and she was genuinely trying to recover from all of that, these days. 

Had anyone else in the world said such a passage reminded them of Theo, she would be feeling a prickling anxiety about being _too seen_ all week long.

“A bit, I guess.” 

Borislava smiled, closed the book and went to stand between Theo’s knees where she sat on the counter. 

“A bit, she says. Just a little bit? I think more like quite a bit is correct.” Borislava had her palms curled around the outsides of Theo’s thighs, over the dark skirt she was wearing that day, thumbs moving in delicate strokes, back and forth over the fabric. 

When Theo didn’t reply, simply out of the discomfort of not knowing what to say, Borislava continued on. Changed the topic when she saw Theo wasn’t comfortable. “Missed you this morning.”

Theo blinked a few times, confused. “Borislava, you came into work with me today.” 

“Still, I missed you when you were not there! Is such a crime? That I enjoy seeing you? Being near you?” Borislava asked, edging delicately into Theo’s space. 

“No,” Theo smiled at her, “No, it isn’t. I was thinking of you, too.” 

In the gravitational way they always were around each other, Theo began to lean forward just as well. The air between them ached like a ghost of a kiss that was yet to happen, but the whistle of the kettle was suddenly piercing enough for Borislava to remember she was making tea. She leaned up on, still a touch too short even with her heeled boots, and pecked Theo’s lips quickly before she turned and went to deal with the kettle and stove.  


* * *

  
Theodora was puttering around the apartment, shirtless once again, unable to decide on a top that went with the shoes she was wearing as well as her coat. One of Theo and Hobie’s regulars, a kind old Russian man with calloused hands and an eye for flourishing Art Deco patterning, had stopped by the shop to inquire about something and got distracted upon meeting Borislava. By the end of the afternoon, he was practically putting the tickets for the play currently at his theatre into Theo’s hands, begging her to come by one night and to bring her partner along. 

“Potter.” Borislava was dressed already, patiently sitting on the edge of the bed in a fitted suit watching Theo flutter back and forth between her bag, her drawer in Borislava’s chest-on-chest, and the bathroom.

“Theo--” She tried again.

“I’m sorry, I know we’ll be late for the show at this rate, I just thought I had a different dress here and now everything’s gotten thrown off.”

“_ Moya ptichka _.” Borislava had said a little more sternly, finally causing Theodora to pause and blink at her. 

“Yes?”

“You are beautiful, as always. Here-- just wear this.” Borislava slid up carefully behind Theodora at the dresser, paused, and plucked a folded silky shirt out of the drawer. One of hers-- fitted to the slight curves of a woman but still insistently styled after menswear. One that looked great on Borislava, but the idea of wearing it made Theo’s throat go tight.

“It’s yours, though.” Theo murmured, inspecting the black silk material and comparing the shiny threaded pinstripe pattern to the rest of the golden colors in her skirt. It did match, but… 

“Am I wearing it now? No. You wear, leave some top buttons undone. Perfect! Then we go giggle through this play and pretend to know what happens.” 

Borislava even shook out the shirt, held it up by the shoulders and helped Theo slip into it. Theo turned to face her, and blushed as she watched Borislava’s thin fingers slowly do each of the buttons, stopping at the dip between Theo’s breasts, fingertips just barely brushing against the soft skin there. Theo reached out, smoothed the collar of Borislava’s own shirt. Her face felt hot. 

“Um,” Theo breathed out. Borislava’s hands settled around the curve of her waist. “It might be alright if we’re late, actually.” 

Borislava’s eyebrow cocked up, knowing smirk growing across her face as she looked up at Theo. Theodora was endlessly thankful their relationship was the way it was, at the point where they could understand each other without explicitly saying what they wanted. She was lucky that Borislava understood exactly what _Well, missing the first act is usually fine… _ meant. It saved her the embarrassment of looking over Borislava’s shoulder and blushing, asking for what she wanted.

Instead, Borislava’s hand on Theo’s waist slowly directed her backwards until she was flat against the mattress, while the other hand tugged the knot of her tie back and forth until it was loose enough to pull over her head. 

They had gone through these motions before, but as always, the vision of Borislava on her knees, shirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows, dark eyelashes long and cheeks dusted red always made a new spark of heat settle low in Theo’s stomach. 

“So beautiful,” Borislava would murmur between kisses, “Always so beautiful.” 

A quick whimper escaped Theo’s throat before she could help it. Borislava smiled against her lips, kissing her still as her hand trailing lightly down Theo’s side until she reached the waist of Theo’s skirt. She tugged the fabric off and over Theo’s thighs when she lifted her hips to make the procedure easier. Theo's skirt was thrown off to the side somewhere, and Theo heard it land in an expensive pile of fabric on the floor. Borislava’s fingers flirted with the lace edges of Theo’s panties, just above the inside of her thighs.

“So wet too,” Borislava said, letting two fingertips trace over the damp outside of Theo’s panties. Theo’s eyes fluttered shut and she bit down on her bottom lip, trying not to whine for it. 

“You always get so worked up, _milaya_.” Borislava said, teasing balanced just on the edge of praise, as she kissed her way down Theo’s jaw and neck. 

Being particularly vocal in bed was hard for Theo, she found the dirty talk and moans too performative. She was always able to get too caught up in the physicality of it, and dissociated enough to forget to enjoy herself. Borislava was the opposite, eager to whisper sweet things against Theo’s chest and stomach, encouraging her to just let go and feel it. It was a good match; they knew how to read each other, always. Theo was exactly as open to take as Borislava was ready to give.

Borislava’s fingers were slick, tracing up and down the silky folds of Theo’s cunt, teasing just around her clit rather than pressing against it directly, as she kissed her way down Theo’s chest, stopping to drop a quick kiss at each of the buttons she had carefully done up earlier. When Borislava bit-- gently-- against the bare skin where the bone of Theo’s hip stuck out, Theo inhaled sharply. Borislava’s fingers dipped inside of her, finally, and Theo could feel the stretch and the smile against her skin. 

“So sweet, _ moya ptichka _. Always so beautiful and good for me. My perfect golden bird.” 

Theo let a muffled moan out and nodded against the pillows, her eyes still shut tight, lost in the feeling of Borislava’s fingers. Her hand went to the back of Borislava’s head once she put her mouth on Theo’s cunt, unable to decide between tugging Borislava’s hair to hear her groan and petting the black curls back out of her eyes for her. 

Her tongue moved in clever ways, filling the space between Theo’s legs when her fingers where busy elsewhere. 

“Oh, fuck.” Theo gasped when Borislava sucked on her clit. Theo let out a few breathy calls of Borislava’s name before she noticed and stopped licking. She dropped a kiss to the soft inside of Theo’s tense thigh and looked up. 

“Yes?” Her chin and mouth were shiny, eyes half lidded and glittering.

“Come kiss me, please.” Theo asked quietly. 

So Borislava did, rubbing her fingertips against Theo’s clit while she leaned over Theodora and kissed her, slow and sweet. She curled her fingers, reaching for the most sensitive spot inside of Theo, pressing and fingering for it until she brought her over the edge just like that, with Theo’s hands still tangled in Borislava’s hair and holding onto her neck while they kissed. Theo held onto Borislava’s face, delicate and reverent, with one hand, and put the other against her hip, silently urging her to grind against Theo’s solid thigh, to take what she wanted until she felt just as blissed out as Theo did. 

Theo lay flat, shaking against the mattress after their orgasms, holding onto Borislava and refusing to let go of her hold on her. Borislava peeled her own dress shirt off, sweat-stained now, and disregarded where it fell. Theo would bother her about it later, but for now all she wanted was Borislava above her, against her, skin to skin, as close as they could be. Borislava kissed softly below Theo’s ear, somewhere near her jaw, still whispering, odd phrases about looking golden, something about the sun and the moon, about little birds, and once again, _always perfect, just for me_.

“Borislava,” Theo said.

“Please do not say we still have to go to play.” Borislava hummed against the side of Theo’s neck. 

Theo smiled, let a little laugh bubble out of her, shy somehow, despite it all. “No, fuck the play. I just wanted to say, um. You know.”

Borislava lifted her head, smiled down at Theo. “I love you too, Theo.”

**Author's Note:**

> ms. tartt please I am begging you: stop writing about repressed twinks and start writing about softhearted lesbians!!!!!!! open your third eye!!!!!! try to see the vision I see!!!!!
> 
> anyways  
\- borya's quote over tea was from to the lighthouse  
\- 'moya ptichka' just means 'my bird' but also I google translated all of the russian petnames so forgive me if anything is outrageous lmao  
\- fuck ao3 italics formatting etc etc  
\- pavlikovsky praise kink but like, backwards, where she gets off on being nice to theo bc no one else does it  
\- title from shut up kiss me by angel olsen  
\- finally found a much better nameswap for boris a month after posting this lol sorry if anyone rereads this  
\- always love a comment but don't worry about it if you don't wanna say anything. I'm Shy Too !! I Get It !!


End file.
